


your touch, my comfort

by a_little_under_rehearsed



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Needs a Hug, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oh, Reconciliation, Scars, Tim Stoker Lives (The Magnus Archives), Touch-Starved, and just. touch???? and cuddling., but like fluff with heavy feelings, can be read as platonic or kinda pre-romance, canon-typical jon not taking care of himself tbh, lets see what else is in here, like. warning that this does deal with jon's scars quite a bit? not in a negative light tho, mostly because i wrote this because im touch-starved, there's definitely emotional intimacy tho, uhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 22:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30095880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_little_under_rehearsed/pseuds/a_little_under_rehearsed
Summary: Tim asks, and Jon explains what he'd missed in his life.an alternate title provided by my friend was "that feel when your crush gets eaten by a coffin but actually hes alive and youre touch starved and both gay," so take that as you will.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66
Collections: JonTim Week 2021





	your touch, my comfort

It’s been a week since Jon came out of the Buried. He’d gone in for Daisy, but when he’d found her, Tim had been alongside her. It was almost too good to be true, and Jon can’t figure out why Breekon hadn’t mentioned that they were  _ both _ in there, but. Somehow.

Point being, Tim was back now, and surprisingly present in the Archives. Still, Jon wasn’t expecting him to walk into the breakroom on a Tuesday evening as Jon made a cup of tea (tea, Martin, god he missed Martin’s tea). Jon had changed into more comfortable clothing when he  _ thought _ everyone had left, so it was quite clear he hadn’t just lost track of time.

“Jon...are you sleeping here?”

“Uh. Yes? Yes. What are you still doing here?”

“Was looking around for a book, lost track of time. That’s not the point. Jon, go home, it’s not even that late yet, you don’t need to sleep here tonight.”

“I don’t- There’s not-” Jon tries to explain, tries to find the words for “I’ve been living at work for a month because there’s no point in not,” but Tim beats him to the understanding.

“Jon. Jon, tell me you’re not living in the Archive. Tell me you have a flat and you have gone somewhere other than here since you got out of your coma. Tell me that you’re not sleeping on that goddamn cot every night.”

“Well, I mean. Not the nights I work? And I’ve gone to the store, it’s not like I’ve been locked down here for a month!”

“ _ Christ _ , Jon. That’s not- you need to get out of here sometimes, you shouldn’t be  _ living _ here!”

“It’s not worth getting a flat, we both know it would be empty a lot more than I’d be there. I haven’t been sleeping much anyway, and there’s no neighbors here to wake up accidentally. Really, Tim, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Jon’s not sure if Tim is worried about him, not sure if he’s earned that back yet. Things aren’t as tense as they had been, but they’re still uneasy. Neither of them have forgotten the mistrust and tension that had been, but they both miss each other. The days that it took to get out of the Buried had helped, certainly, but for now, Jon feels like he might miss a step and feel the floor drop out beneath him at any moment. He really doesn’t want to bother Tim, doesn’t want to do anything that might hurt their slowly-healing relationship.

“Jon. Come home with me. Sleep in a fucking bed for once, please.” Tim seems to pick up on Jon’s immediate tension at these words, adding: “I swear I’m not saying anything else, I just. Fuck.” He ran a hand down his face, frustrated with the lingering uncertainty and stiffness between the two of them. “Please, I just. I don’t want to watch you hurt anymore.”

And with Tim looking so uncertain and determined and tired, and telling Jon that he  _ cared _ , how could Jon say no?

Tim has a house, but it certainly isn’t a large one, with no guest room to speak of. Jon offered to take the couch, of course he did, but Tim wouldn’t hear of it. (“The couch is hardly better than the cot, Jon, the point isn’t to keep being uncomfortable!”) Jon wouldn’t let his presence for the evening displace Tim from his bed though, so. Well. They share the bed. It isn’t uncomfortable, god knows they’ve done this before, but just. Stiff.

Or at least, it was, right up until Jon wakes up to a nightmare (he knew it he knew this would happen and now he’s woken Tim and after Tim was being so kind and-). Slowly, gently, Tim shifts over, speaks softly to Jon, and carefully, loose enough that Jon could pull away if he wanted, he holds him. They both fall back asleep like that, just taking comfort in the other’s presence. It helps.

  
  


A month later, it’s become routine. It’s not every night--Jon still sleeps in the Archive, still keeps most of his clothing in a box at the end of the cot--he’s not  _ living _ with Tim. Still, on any given week, Jon spends three or four nights at Tim’s house, having been coaxed away from the Archive by Tim. They fall asleep holding one another more often than not, having found the comfort outweighed the lingering awkwardness of it.

Some nights, Jon cooks, insisting that he does something in return for Tim letting him stay, and he likes cooking anyway. Tim finds himself just watching Jon cook, offering help when he can, but usually relegated to just sitting at the counter, observing Jon’s process. He finds himself noticing things, now, and wondering about them. He remembers a lot of them, but hadn’t cared enough to find out the story behind them--the thick burn scar covering most of Jon’s right hand, limiting it’s curl as he chops vegetables. The slash across his throat--Tim remembers something about Daisy being involved? He never heard further than that, never cared to hear, but now, watching Jon in the comfortable space they’ve made for themselves--he wonders. He wants to know, and he knows that neither that desire or Jon’s hurt are limited to just these few marks.

Still, Tim’s desire for that connection doesn’t come to a boil for another month or so. Their arrangement is still much the same, but it doesn’t take much convincing for Jon to come back anymore. He’s still staying in the Archives more than Tim would like, but it’s a step in the right direction, anyway. 

That night, Jon’s restless, shifting around in bed, unable to settle down. Tim begins to run a soothing hand down his side. It calms Jon enough for him to relax into the bed. It’s nice, being together in this space. Having someone who knows about their nightmares and dreams, someone who’s there when they startle awake. They’ve missed each other for so long, well before the Unknowing, so this is….nice. Good.

As Tim continues to run his hand down Jon’s side, he notices something odd. The next time his hand moves up, he pays more attention, then lets his hand still. He shifts a bit, hesitating, then draws a breath as if to say something, before slowly letting it out again.

“Is- is everything okay?” Jon notices his hesitation, because of course he does.

“I- yeah. Yeah. I just. Uh. Most people’s ribs...end….lower? I think? Is that? Did you-”

“OH. Oh. I, uh-. Yeah. Yes. It’s- hm. It was...intentional?”

“Intentional.”

“I. Yeah. It’s fine, you don’t need to worry about it, it’s not-. It’s fine.”

“Jon-”

“It’s really not a big deal, it’s not important Tim, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m-”

“Fine, you said. Look, Jon, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay, but. I don’t know. I’m here and listening? I know that I didn’t, before, but. I want to now. I want to hear what happened, and not just to your ribs. There’s been so much, and I just-. I’m sorry it took me this long to care and to tell you? You don’t have to, but, if you’re willing, I’d. I’d like to hear.” The emotions that had been slowly building over the previous months finally pours out, the desire to know, to make up for his coldness back when so much of it had happened.

Jon lets out a shaky breath. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.”

“Right. Right, of course, sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“Right.”

They lie there for a minute, just breathing together. Tim’s fingers sketch out the area that Jon’s rib used to be, not trying to pry for answers, just. Feeling Jon’s existence.

“Right, well. If we’re going to do this, I think. I think I’d like to do it right, and just. Cover all of it at once? If that’s- if you-”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with. I did mean that I want to know it all though. I was so caught up in myself back then, I noticed you getting hurt and I just didn’t  _ care _ , but. I do now. I want to know what happened.”

“Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

Slowly, Jon sits up enough to pull off his shirt and sit halfway up against the pillows, taking Tim’s hand and guiding it back to the spot his ribs used to be. Tim follows, sitting up and allowing himself to be guided, watching Jon’s movements carefully in the dim light filtering in from the streetlights.

“This was. Hm. When I decided to go into the coffin, I figured I needed an anchor? So I could find my way out after I’d found Daisy- and you, although, I mean, I didn’t know. A part of me: it seemed like it would work? I tried other ways of getting one, but-” he cuts himself off with a dry laugh, no real humor in it. “That didn’t really work. So I...got help? Jared Hopworth. One for me--it’s still in my desk, actually--and one for him as...payment, I suppose.”

“Jesus, Jon. I didn’t know you’d done that to get to us, I-”

“Yes, well. I’m not sure it even worked, to be honest. I definitely had something drawing me back, but whether it was the rib or not...All the same, I guess. I got you both out.”

“You did,” Tim replies softly, still lightly tracing the skin below Jon’s remaining ribs.

After another moment of quiet, both of them reflecting on their time in the Buried, Jon took Tim’s hand again, gently shifting it up to his shoulder, where Tim found a short, jagged scar.

“This, ah. Well, you heard about the bullet that was in Melanie, right? And us getting it out of her?” Jon sees Tim quietly nod. “Mmmm. It worked, but. Well, there are consequences to doing impromptu surgery, I guess. It’s fair, I would’ve wanted to stab me for it too if I were in her position, but all the same, that’s- that’s where that came from.”

“Did it hurt? Or, I mean. This looks like it’s years old, but from what I heard, that didn’t actually happen too long ago?”

“Something about the Archives, about whatever’s happening to me--I heal a lot better now, I guess. It does hurt, when it happens, but within a week it’s fully healed, it seems. I don’t know. I guess it’s good? Doesn’t really feel like it though.”

Tim hums softly. “Still, if you’re going to keep getting hurt like this, I’d rather you heal than be constantly in recovery. I don’t want you hurt, and if I can’t keep you safe, at least I know you’ll be okay.”

Tim doesn’t seem to realize the impact of what he just said, how much his plain expressions of care affect Jon. He doesn’t even seem to notice how new this still feels, how significant it is every time, but Jon does. Jon  _ does _ , and it takes his breath away for a moment, overwhelmed by the concept that Tim  _ cares _ again, that they’re together like this again. It takes him a moment to move on again, letting Tim gently run his fingers over the length of the scar from the stabbing until he feels like he can breathe again.

He shifts Tim’s exploration to his forearm next, where an oddly circular scar rests--not from the worms, larger, and angled strangely. Tim can’t figure out where it might’ve come from, until-

“This one, uh. Michael. Turns out you don’t necessarily need a knife to stab people when you’re a- god, what was he? Eldritch horror with sharp fingers?”

“Is that when you told Martin you’d gotten yourself with a bread knife? And he wouldn’t let you into the breakroom without supervision for a month?”

“You heard about that? Yeah. Not the most convincing lie, huh?”

“Not really, but I get it. Why did Michael…?”

“I told him to let Helen go. The real Helen, when she came to make a statement. Apparently the wrong thing to say.”

“Apparently.”

Next, Jon shifts so that Tim can run his fingers across the rough burn scar that takes up most of his right hand. Before explaining, he has to take a shaky breath at the feeling of his hand being held, even with Tim’s loose grip and careful touch.

“Jude Perry. She- we shook hands. It wasn’t exactly a friendly handshake.”

Tim doesn’t say anything this time, just adjusts the way that he’s holding Jon’s hand so it’s clear that Jon can pull away if he needs. Jon hesitates, not sure how to continue. It’s not that he doesn’t want to share with Tim, to tell him everything, but the scars he’s already talked about have been hard, and the rest are only more and more painful, and closer to Tim’s own experiences. He doesn’t want to bring that back up, but Tim wouldn’t have asked if he hadn’t wanted to know, right? Jon doesn’t realize how long he’s been frozen, pondering where to go, until Tim interrupts his thoughts.

“Jon? Are you okay? You don’t need to- we can stop, it’s not-”

“No, no, I’m okay, I’m just. A lot happened, you know? I’m not really sure which to…” he trails off, still considering, before moving Tim’s hand up his arm a few inches, to the light scars that circle his wrist. “These. The circus. That month that I was gone, that they...had me? They wanted my skin, but I mean. Apparently I wasn’t ready, and they couldn’t just leave me sitting there with nothing to keep me, so. I’ve got these on the other wrist and both ankles too. A lot better than it could have been, I suppose.”

Tim can tell that Jon’s trying to make light of it, to not let show how deeply he’s still shaken up, but the tremble in his voice and the way he tenses as Tim touches his wrist give him away. He doesn’t know what to say--he remembers Jon coming back from that time, remembers how he brushed him off, how he didn’t try to find out what had happened.

“Christ, Jon, I didn’t- I was there, and I didn’t even- I’m so sorry. I’m just. I’m sorry.”

“Tim, no, it’s okay. You had plenty of reason to be avoiding me, really. I’m okay, it’s fine.”

“It’s really not though, Jon. You should have had someone there. Yes, I had reason to be mad, but. We both fucked up. It wasn’t just on you. No,  _ please _ don’t argue with me about this, not right now.”

Jon’s reply is barely audible, but Tim’s glad to hear the soft, “Alright.” from the man next to him. Centering himself, Jon focuses on his breath and on the feeling of Tim’s hand tracing over his wrist, the warmth and steadiness of his fingers, the comfortable touch of a person he trusts--not plastic. Not plastic.

Eventually, he moves Tim’s hand up to skim over his torso. “The worms, obviously. And some from the Unknowing--apparently there was a lot of shrapnel in the explosion.”

Slowly, Jon guides Tim up to lightly, lightly, feel the thin slash across his throat. The delicate feeling of Tim’s fingertips is still enough to throw him off, to force him to focus on his breathing, to control it, trying to stop the panic that he feels at the slight pressure. Despite this, he holds Tim’s hand steady, even as he tries to pull away, feeling Jon’s discomfort.

“Jon, don’t-”

“No, it’s okay, really, I just. Need a moment before I can- give me just a second, okay? I promise it’s okay.”

“If you’re sure.”

After a while, Jon begins to speak, though he can’t hide how badly his voice trembles now.

“This one--Daisy. She got rid of Mike Crew, and then-- I thought--” Jon tries to catch himself, to stop the memory of his terror, but it’s too late. The tears that he’s been holding back until now begin to flow, and he chokes out “I was so scared. I thought that was it, that she was going to-- but then Basira came, and. I just.”

Tim pulls his hand away from Jon’s tight grip, gently adjusting their positions so that he can hold Jon as he begins to unravel. Jon melts into the embrace, hiding his face in Tim’s chest as he shakes from the memories.

Softly, Tim murmurs into Jon’s hair. “I didn’t know that happened. I’m sorry, I should have been there. I’m glad you’re here. We’re here, we’re alright.”

Slowly, Jon calms enough to properly return Tim’s embrace. They fall asleep, still tightly pressed together, Tim unable to keep his hands from wandering over Jon’s body, as if trying to soothe away all the marks on his body.

It’s not the end of their difficult conversations, of their explanations. Later, Tim will tell Jon about being in the coffin and properly tell him about Danny’s death. Jon will explain about the encounters that didn’t leave physical marks, about Mike Crew, about Mr. Spider. They get through the conversations, holding one another through the nightmares that follow, and slowly, slowly, they begin to heal, to trust again. When the entities come for them again (because they always do), they’re able to help one another, and not being alone again makes all the difference.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Ease by Troye Sivan bc Blue Neighbourhood still hits.
> 
> this was absolutely written because im touch starved!! help!!! they deserve soft things and i want them!!!!!!!!!


End file.
